The Tango
by Paradoxal Reality
Summary: A silly little segue about Helga fantasizing about she and Arnold's wedding. Or WAS it a dream!?


Oooh geez. First Arnold fic here, and it's just a short piece of sugary confection inspired by the April Fool's Day episode. I know it's really short and feels really rushed and all, but hey, I wrote it on my break at work, lol. Hope you enjoy a new twist on the wedding scene! And I'm sure that the stereotypical garb I've situated Olga in is outdated to say the least, but it struck me as funnier that way.  
  
"The Tango"  
  
It was all planned. Everything had gone off without a hitch. From the moment he'd said her name, her name! in that tone... everything had come together. The next few years had been a blur. Without the agony of secrecy, the days had flown by on fleet, gossamer dove's wings.  
  
Hm.. that was good. She'd have to write it down later.  
  
The world had always revolved thus, around him. It was only now that she was free to live in that world. To breathe its air without hiding inside a trash can to do it! With just a little more coaxing, this world would be a perfect one, and it would belong totally to her. All she had to do was live through the marriage ceremony.  
  
Helga Pataki would cease to be, and a new Helga would emerge. She glanced over at the sofa and grimaced. "Miriam! Criminey! I'm getting married in an hour, and you're passed out?" Miriam Pataki stirred slightly before sitting up and smiling at her daughter. "Now Helga, that's no way to act. I'm not sloshed, I was just taking a nap. I promised you I'd be sober for the ceremony!" Miriam yawned a miraculously alcohol-free yawn. "I'm not going to miss your wedding, honey." Helga paced the living room frantically. "We've got to get to the church, and I've got to finish getting ready, and... and the flowers! And... and Bob... and... I'm going to be late!" she protested.  
  
Her mother laughed. "I think Arnie will wait for you, Helga." Helga involuntarily made a hideous face. "Arnold, mom. Ar-Nold. Not Arnie." She began gathering up the boxes containing her dress, assorted accessories and of course, the ridiculously high heeled shoes that Olga had loaned to her. "But you have to have something borrowed, Helga!" she had insisted. "That's the tradition! 'Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue." Helga snorted at the memory. 'Get me a repossessed blue rental sedan and I'll be set.' she thought in irritation.  
  
"I think Arnie's a cute nickname! "Miriam protested as she started to pull Helga's suitcase towards the front door. "Uhhh... no." Helga replied with a shake of her head. "He's got a cousin named Arnie. He'd never live it down." Miriam laughed. 'Ah yes,' Helga thought, 'the laugh of one who is innocent of the horror. Sure.' She gulped down half a can of soda in an effort to steady her nerves, and nearly choked at the realization that in about 45 minutes, she'd be legally related to... Arnie. Ugh. She slid into the driver's side seat without waiting for Miriam's offer to drive. She had enough to worry about today without a near-fatal accident.  
  
'Everything will be alright…' she thought to herself over and over. 'This time it's for real, not one of those stupid dreams where I wake up right at the part where…' Miriam stared at her daughter as Helga leaned back in her seat and gave an embarrassingly fluttery sigh. "I do… I do…" she mumbled over and over. "Helga?" Helga sprung back to full alertness with a start. "I…. Do! …want to get going! Yeah!" Helga mercilessly jammed the keys into the ignition and twisted as if she were trying to stifle some ridiculously girly inner voice.  
  
Which, of course, she was.  
  
  
  
Phoebe Heyerdahl mumbled "Oh dear…" to herself in worry as she listened to the phone in her hand. "No one's answering at the house, they must have already left, Gerald." She adjusted her light blue gown and hung up the cellular phone. "Shall I try her personal phone?"  
  
"Yeah, you do that. I think Arnold's going to have kittens if she doesn't get here quick." Gerald Johanssen replied from his station in the doorway to the men's restroom, where he kept giving concerned looks back into the interior as casually as he could. "Oh dear, has he fainted again?" Phoebe queried, anxious for the well-being of her friend. Besides, if Arnold keeled over, Helga would never forgive any of them. "Nah, he's cool for now." Gerald replied with a brisk shake of his head. "He's just got the jitters."  
  
"I don't have the jitters, Gerald," Arnold's disembodied voice responded from the unseen depths of the restroom. "I'm hiding from Helga's dad! He keeps looking for Helga's sister and someone named Doug." "Who in the heck is Doug?" Gerald wondered aloud. Phoebe sighed. "Poor Mr. Pataki… he was never able to accept that Helga's sister became a nun and moved to that convent in France." She pushed her glasses up a little farther on her nose in an unconscious display of nervousness. "But Olga's supposed to come! What are we going to do if Mr. Pataki should…"  
  
Arnold suddenly pushed past Gerald to glare in determination at Phoebe. "I am not marrying Helga's sister." He declared with enough malice to make his best friend burst out laughing behind him. "Too much hearts and flowers, huh Arnold?" Gerald teased. Arnold gave his friend a look that invoked the idea of being violently, disturbingly ill to one's stomach. "As my best man, I expect you to step in and cover for me in that event, Gerald." It was Gerald's turn to look ill.  
  
  
  
"Olga!" Big Bob Pataki bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Where is that girl? Mother…" he quickly switched gears as a group of wedding guests began to turn around and stare at him curiously. "…Goose." He corrected himself before quickly thinking of something pressing he had to do in the next room. "Where is that girl? She's going to be late for her own wedding!" He pressed his head to the door, intently listening as a new group of voices entered his range of hearing. "Oh, it's going to be just… so.. magical!" one of them exclaimed before gushing over into tears.  
  
Olga Pataki screamed in surprise as her father burst out of a previously innocent-looking door and grabbed her in a crushing hug. "Olga! You had me thinking that you were going to be late! Where's the lucky guy? Where ya been hiding him? And what in the sam hill are you wearing, young lady? You look like you're in mourning for a penguin."  
  
Olga straightened her habit as her father finally sat her down. "Daddy, did you forget to take your pills again? You know that when I moved to France three years ago, I became a nun!" But Bob Pataki was having none of it. Olga sighed in resignation as her father swept off through the crowded church in search of the "missing" groom. "Daddy still hasn't adjusted well to all this." She muttered to herself as she walked off towards the back of the building in search of her "baby" sis.  
  
Helga stomped into the church at about the same time that her father stormed out. "Olga, go get ready, I said I'd find Doug myself." Bob absent- mindedly ordered. Helga noted her mother's confused expression with a smirk. 'Figures, she goes off the "tabasco" for a day or two, and suddenly it's reality time.' She thought smugly. "Whatever. C'mon, Miriam." She dragged her mother off towards the small day care room that had been set aside for her changing room by the church staff. Miriam followed, carrying the huge bundle of white that was Helga's wedding dress.  
  
"There she is! Helga!" Phoebe called, frantically jumping up and down and waving her arms over her head in the hopes of being seen by her newly arrived best friend. "Phoebes! Dad's outside blabbering about finding people. Doug somebody, specifically." Miriam adjusted her glasses, subconsciously prompting Phoebe to do the same. "Olga's Doug? I thought he signed up for the space program or something?" Helga suddenly recalled the incident of her sister's first 'too good to be true' beau. "Ah yeah… Doug. How tragic. Well, I'd better go get ready before.."  
  
"Baby sister!"  
  
"Oh criminey… Too late." Helga steeled herself as a black and white sobbing blur grabbed her into a suffulocating hug. "Olga, you'll get Helga started!" Miriam scolded, feeling safe back on the shaky ground of parenthood. "Then I'll have her makeup to do all over again!" Olga bawled hysterically anyway, and soon Helga was covered with runny mascara. "Too late. Oh gee, guess I'll just have to go wash it all off!" Helga observed cheerfully, delighted to have a reason to clear about three layers of sticky foundation off of her face. She froze momentarily as from behind Phoebe a familiar voice called her name. "Agh! What's Arnold thinking! He can't see me before the ceremony! It's bad luck!" she shrieked, turning and running down the crowded hallway.  
  
"I thought Helga didn't believe in luck." Arnold asked as he watched Helga's mother and sister running after her. "No more than you do." Gerald chuckled as Phoebe suddenly remembered her duties as Maid of Honor and raced off after the retreating figures.  
  
"Honestly Helga, was it really necessary to hide from your family like this?" Phoebe asked in exasperation as she tried to straighten the plain white dress. Helga studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, comparing how she'd imagined the day would make her look to the reality. "Unless we wanted to spend all morning trying to wash out makeup stains and clean away water spots, yeah." She tugged on the collar of the plain-ish dress experimentally. It wasn't as fancy a dress as she'd always imagined wearing, but it had been all that she could stand when it had truly come down to it. She'd had help removing all the fancy trappings of one of Olga's ridiculously fancy dresses, and that was probably the only reason why there were no shredded bits of fabric betraying where lace had been pulled away, rosettes made of ribbon plucked off, and streamers of gauzy bows removed.  
  
"Y'know, this doesn't look too bad." She observed, finally smiling slightly. "Especially considering it was Olga's second or third wedding dress." Phoebe shook her head. "Really Helga… I sometimes wonder if you didn't let Olga almost get married half a dozen times so that you'd have a closet of dresses ready." Helga snorted in a decidedly unfeminine fashion. "Hey, it's not my fault if she fell for every guy with a line and a nice, misleading smile who ever crossed her path." Phoebe shook her head and moved to help Helga salvage her hairstyle. "You're terrible sometimes, Helga." "Yep, Helga the Heartless, that's me."  
  
Helga stared into the mirror, suddenly terrified. She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the moment when she would undoubtably wake up from this fantastic dream. She fancied that she moved out of the room, heard voices around her, vaguely saw people moving around her only barely conscious form, but didn't truly register her surroundings.  
  
Suddenly she felt her father shake her arm. "Olga! Quit fooling around!" The surrounding world snapped back into taffeta-shrouded focus, and she felt someone take her arm and gently pull her away from her father. Her eyes darted upwards to the face of her savior, and she mentally gave a sigh of relief so large and profound that it was a wonder it wasn't audible. She'd awoken from a dream into another one, it seemed.  
  
She let him pull her slowly to the correct spot in front of the podium, and the minister coughed softly before beginning. 'Same guy as Tish Whittenburg's wedding. Nice touch there, subconscious.' She thought to herself hazily.  
  
"Dearly beloved.."  
  
"HEY! What happened to Richard!?" Bob shouted from his spot in the front row. "Great, he's going to go through the names of every boyfriend Olga ever had." Helga sighed to herself. "Daddy, hush!" Olga whispered to her father. Bob jumped as if he'd seen a ghost. "Olga!? But you're supposed to be getting married!?" "Oh Daddy…." Olga mumbled in embarrassment and exasperation as the entire ceremony was abruptly brought to a shrieking halt. From across the aisle, Arnold's grandfather snickered loudly. "And he called us senile, Pookie?" Arnold looked horrified as his grandfather stood and tossed a bottle of pills at Helga's father. "Help yourself, Pataki! You need 'em worse than me!"  
  
Helga glared at their audience for a moment before pulling back her own veil and shouting for quiet. "Geez people, grow up!" she commanded. Arnold and the minister, not to mention the rest of the wedding party, looked relieved. Big Bob looked aghast. "What's the GIRL doing up there?" Helga rolled her eyes. "Trying to get married?" she suggested. A few snickers came from the back of the church. She grinned broadly. This was a fun dream. She might as well enjoy it. Arnold peered around her nervously at her fuming father. "Uh.. could we maybe get on with this?" he asked hesitantly. Bob startled again. "You!?"  
  
Arnold sighed softly. Bob continued to rave. "But I thought Olga… how many of my daughters are you marrying, boy?" Arnold gulped. "Uh… how many have you got?" The assembled congregation roared with laughter just as he realized that hadn't been the correct question to ask. Helga ignored her father's protests at the attention and leaned forward to kiss her now overly nervous bridegroom. She felt distinctly light-headed.  
  
Had she been paying closer attention, she would have seen the pastor toss his hands in the air and walk away from the whole display in disgust. "Whatever, sign the papers later on and we'll call it good." He grumbled. "I do." She whispered softly during the pause as she either came up for air or woke up; the dizzy sensation in her head made it difficult to tell which one.  
  
The next time she was aware of her surroundings, she was in the reception hall, watching her mother attempt to drown her embarrassment in punch. Judging from the way that she wove back across the hall, Helga decided that it had been liberally spiked. "Hel-ga honey, your drinks need more tabas-*hick*-co." Miriam advised. Well, so much for Miriam's four-day trek into sobriety. Arnold's grandparents were dancing out in the middle of the hall, having the time of their lives. "Not bad for an old bird without his original hip!" Phil boasted. Gertie, who'd seized the opportunity to dress like Annette Funicello in her early, mousketeer days, nodded in agreement.  
  
Suddenly Helga became aware of Arnold's presence beside her, watching the show his grandparents put on with a worried expression. "Anxious about how to break it to me that insanity runs in your family, Arnold?" she asked with a knowing grin. He laughed weakly and she shrugged. "S'okay. It flees in mortal terror from mine." He suddenly grinned and waved across the room at Gerald and Phoebe, who'd seized the opportunity to grab some "alone time" together. Gerald waved the attention away. "Don't you have a cake to cut or something?" the taller man mouthed at his friends, prompting Phoebe to giggle.  
  
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot." Arnold said. Helga grinned to herself maliciously. Dream or no, there was no way she was missing the opportunity. It was a tradition! It was all in good fun! And it certainly wasn't her fault if Arnold looked absolutely gorgeous with that look on his face that he always got when he found himself wearing something he hadn't put on that morning himself! Additional voices took up the chant. "Cut the cake! Cut the cake!" Arnold led Helga across to the massive white iced creature that took up the entire end of the refreshment table. It was gorgeous, a testament to the beauty and delicacy of the taste of true love itself. Arnold would look great wearing it. Helga fought the urge to grin like a maniac. This was the best dream she'd had in her entire life. Funny how real it was. Even the awkwardness of Olga's borrowed shoes felt real.  
  
Arnold and Helga posed for a picture holding the knife above the cake, then carefully they cut the first two pieces together. Each of them reached for their slice, and the crowd hushed expectantly as they looked up at each other. Helga's face drained briefly of all color as she discerned a slightly diabolical glint in her beloved's normally peaceful green eyes. 'Uh oh..' she thought to herself.  
  
"Hit it!" Gerald's voice called out from somewhere over to her left. She dared not look away to see where, even as the small orchestra began to play. To look away was to leave herself open to the attack that she was now certain was at hand. Instead, she found herself staring into the emerald oceans of Arnold's eyes. Watching for the first sign that he was through waiting to spring his trap. Each of them carefully balancing a small piece of cake in one hand, he pulled her out onto the dance floor as the orchestra began to beat out the steady opening pace of a tango.  
  
She recovered her composure as he guided her across the floor. She smiled just slightly. Arnold's understated grin diminished slightly. An unspoken challenge had been made. He suddenly dipped her, the hand that was not carrying his slice of cake carefully balancing her weight behind her back. "What's the matter Helga? Don't you … trust me?" he asked in a hushed whisper. Helga faltered slightly, but managed to keep from fumbling her slice. He pulled her up effortlessly, a frown slightly creasing his face at his failure to make her drop her weapon. The music's tempo picked up, and she took the opportunity to yank his arm back and pull him in a new direction. She smirked as they reached the end of the movement, the stalemate continued.  
  
She startled slightly at the look of renewed determination that crossed his face. He meant to give her a liberal coating of icing over her face for sure. She braced herself as he swung her out then pulled her back with arm-numbing abruptness. A cheer went up from the guests as she waved her intact cake slice at him victoriously and gave him an impish grin. His answering smile as he showed her his own slice was a bit chilling. A chorus of whistles and catcalls tempted her to look around, but even as her head started to turn, she perceived movement out of the corner of her eye. She ducked, and Arnold's aim was ruined.  
  
Arnold's piece of cake sailed gracefully through the air to land with a joyous splash in the punch bowl, where Sid and Stinky were promptly exposed pouring more of a just-opened bottle of vodka into the mixture of fruit juice and ice. The audience laughed. Arnold gulped. Helga grinned victoriously. She took the lead, pulling a now reluctant Arnold back along the dance floor.  
  
He suddenly decided to press his advantage of having two free hands and spun her around quickly before the return trip. The crowd cheered appreciatively as Helga scowled slightly at his delaying tactic. "Get ready to eat cake, bucko." She whispered. Arnold seized the wrist that she was holding up her cake with and as the music beat up to a frenetic rhythm around them and the audience held its breath, a final contest of wills and strength began over just who would be the victim of the frosting-smeared after-cake photo. Sid, still reeking of alcohol, ran over to hold his camera at the ready, preparing for the final, fateful blow to be struck.  
  
Arnold and Helga circled each other warily, one hand on the now battered chunk of frosting and cake, the other on their partner. Each determined that the other was never going to win this struggle for sugary power. The crowd pressed in around them. From behind them, a voice commented on the tacky extravagance of the whole production. A look passed between them and a decided power shift occurred. There was a horrified scream and the flashbulbs started going off like mad, recording for all posterity the sight of a certain Ms. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd-Vanderheuse- Phillips covered in a smear of white that she hadn't bought as an accessory to her designer gown. Why Rhonda felt she had to dress like a bride at someone else's wedding is a matter best left to her therapist.  
  
However, it is possible that she was just confused, seeing how she'd made so many trips up the aisle that she could probably qualify for a frequent patron's discount.  
  
"And don't ever outdress me at my own wedding again!" Helga shouted cheerfully after the retreating former fashion queen. The rest of the guests shook their heads and laughed as well. Arnold put on his best "innocent" look. "Gee, that wasn't very nice." He commented. Helga smiled. "Yeah, you must be slipping, Arnold." He did his best to look appropriately confused, even as their audience laughed along. It was obviously no secret that he'd thrown at least half of that confection missile.  
  
Helga reached up to leave a spot of sugary icing on the end of his nose before grinning and walking away in search of a napkin to wipe the rest of the remains of the cake off her hands. 'Remains of the Cake… that'd be a good title for a novel.' She thought to herself as she watched Phoebe and Gerald act out a more traditionally messy version of a cake serving. Gerald's tall hair was now crowned with a dollup of frosting and Phoebe had enough white on her face to pass for a kabuki actress. Helga smiled to herself as she walked on past, leaving her bouquet tucked into the sash of her best friend's light blue gown as she entered the shelter of the kitchen.  
  
She washed her hands carefully in the sink, marveling at the depth of sensation in this particular dream. Arms suddenly reached around her and an additional pair of hands joined hers. "How do you feel?" Arnold asked softly. Helga leaned back against him with a sigh. "Like I'm in a dream." She whispered softly. "I'm afraid I'm going to wake up soon." He kissed her forehead and she smiled up at him. "Helga, you've got the rest of your life to wake up. Right now, let's just enjoy the dream, hm?"  
  
End. 


End file.
